


Make Much of Time

by WolfstarGarden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dead Poet's Society, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Getting Together, M/M, Marauders' Era, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfstarGarden/pseuds/WolfstarGarden
Summary: Irrepressible and determined Sirius Black will do almost anything to befriend reserved and secretive Remus Lupin. Being roommates and seeing each other naked helps things along.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enjambament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjambament/gifts).



> Please note that this story contains scenes that may be confronting and is intended for an older audience. References to depression, past-abuse and self-harm are recurrent themes.

 Sirius likes his new roommate right away, right from the second he sets eyes on him. He sees something in him that he imagines a lot of other people miss – behind that shy, reserved exterior and the soft, dark eyes he sees a quiet resilience, and a sharp mind which was probably attached to a sharp tongue, and sharper wit.

But there’s also an air of sadness about him, which strangely draws Sirius, whose own cheery demeanour covers a deep sense of unhappiness.

After being publicly told off by his mother, and seeing Remus standing alone with a lost little look, Sirius approaches him, shaking off his embarrassment so that he can help this new boy overcome his. Sirius often finds it easier to help fix someone else’s problem than to look at his own.

“Hey, Lupin, isn’t it?” he says, beaming and offering his hand.

“Oh. Yes, hello. Remus Lupin.”

“I’m your new roommate. Sirius Black.” They shake hands, and Remus’ mouth twitches just slightly as though he wants to smile, but is unsure if he should. So Sirius grins to show him it’s okay, and goes a little further by slinging his arm around Remus, gesturing to show him the way to their room.

Remus’ stiffens under his touch, but relaxes after a moment and allows himself to be led around. Sirius attempts conversation, hoping to ease his nerves. “So, why’re you changing schools in your last year?”

There’s a pause, not long, but long enough for Sirius to suspect the answer he’s given is only a fraction of the whole story. “Uh. My father went here.”

“Oh!” Sirius suddenly recognises the name. “Lyall Lupin?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Remus’ tone suggests he’s tired of living in his father’s shadow, so Sirius hastily changes the topic.

Remus doesn’t seem like someone who’s used to conversation – he’s quiet and hesitant and Sirius isn’t sure if he’s prying when he doesn’t always get an answer, but Remus isn’t unfriendly and Sirius likes him even more by the time they arrive at the dorm room in comfortable silence.

There’s a crush of people in the dormitory halls, and Sirius marches through them haughtily, watching as people step out of his way. Some wave or nod hello. Sirius has been going to Hogworth for his entire education, and some of these people he’s known that long.

They’ve only been in their room for a few minutes, both beginning to unpack, when a knocking thuds on the door.

Sirius glances across to Remus to see if he’s expecting his parents to stop and say goodbye, but he looks surprised, so Sirius crosses the room and throws open the ancient door.

“Black! Spiffing!” cries a mass of scruffy black hair, and a tall, athletic body collapses onto him.

“Potter!” Sirius returns, wrapping his arms around his best friend of many years. “How was your summer? Did you miss me?”

“Naturally, brother, naturally, though I think my old girl missed you more.”

“Ah, how is your darling mother?”

“Very well, Sir, very well.”

They draw apart, and Sirius looks over James Potter, impressed at how well he looks and noting he’s wearing new glasses which suit him far better than his old frames. His dark hair is a marvel of messiness. James and he haven’t seen each other since the previous term, and Sirius has missed him. As the son of a self-made man, and therefore ‘new money’, Sirius’ parents consider James an acceptable but inappropriate friend, and they had fashioned ways to prevent visits during the summer.

Sirius ushers him in, and before he has a chance to do anything more, a lithe form slips in behind, and then two bigger shapes are barrelling down on him as well, and suddenly his room is filled with all his school friends – James, and Caradoc Dearborn, and the Prewett brothers, Fabian and Gideon.

It’s nice to have them all here together, but Remus looks slightly overwhelmed, and is keeping his back firmly to the group.

“Where’s your shadow?” Fabian is asking James as Gideon passes around a wrap which smells suspiciously like it is not just tobacco.

James shrugs. “Still in the room, far as I know.”

James’ roommate is a slightly strange, anti-social boy. None of them are particularly fond of Peter Pettigrew, but they feel bad for him and so let him hang around. They have to be careful though, because Sirius has never known somebody more willing to snitch on any bad behaviour.

Caradoc is the first one of Sirius’ gang to notice Remus, neatly unpacking his case on the left-hand bed. “Uh, hi. Caradoc Dearborn. Best third of this lot,” he says, gesticulating at the Prewett twins. Remus shakes his hand and tries to turn away, but they’re all interested in him now he’s drawn notice.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” James says, offering him the wrap. Remus eyes it for a moment, then accepts it with a small smile. There’s a strange twinge of emotion deep in Sirius’ belly that confuses him, but he forgets it in the next moment when Remus frowns and asks,

“Hogwarts?”

The boys all nod knowingly, smirking, laughing.

The school isn’t a bad one, Sirius supposes, as schools go. But Riddle, their headmaster, is cold and almost cruel with his fondness for corporal punishment. The teachers, even the nicest ones, are strict and stern and largely unapproachable. There’s only one woman, McGonagall, the token female so the school can claim to be an equal opportunity employer.

The year opening assembly had introduced a new teacher to them, though – someone with a calm grace and sparkling eyes, who like Remus seemed to be more than he appeared. Albus Dumbledore had apparently attended Hogworth himself many years ago, graduating with honours as Head Boy. Despite evidence that he would be a rule-abiding stickler, Sirius sensed a type of eccentricity about him that promised excitement. His expectations are immediately met in their first class the next day.

They are supposed to be learning literature, with this term focussing on poetry. But Albus Dumbledore tells them all to stow their textbooks without even opening them, and instead begins scrawling on the blackboard.

Sirius is torn between watching him, and watching the bowed mop of curls belonging to silent Remus Lupin three desks in front of him. He can hear James diagonally behind him, chewing scraps of paper into spit balls, which he likes to aim at their friends.

When Dumbledore steps away, the board is filled with a string of random words, seemingly with no link between them. “Well, gentlemen,” he says.

 _Well?_ Sirius thinks. _Well what?_ He isn’t even sure that half the words he is reading are real. This grey-haired, bearded, bespectacled old man is clearly a nutter.

The whole class seems to share his sentiments. Peter glances around, obviously checing that his confusion is an okay response.

Dumbledore folds his hands over his purple-clad stomach and his eyes twinkle with a merry humour behind his semi-circular glasses. “What do these words mean to you? To each of you? When you read them all do they mean something different than they do if you read one at a time?”

Sirius scans the board again. _Nitwit ... blubber ... tickle ... hallow ..._ a string of nonsense, with more before and after. And yet, when he looks at the teacher, and thinks about his words, he suspects they’re supposed to learn something very important.

He cranes around in his seat to look at James, whose eyebrows have disappeared behind his hair. They give each other a shrug, a crooked grin. Gideon is scratching his head. Fabian and Caradoc are blithely passing notes. Remus doesn’t appear to have even looked up, and Peter is scratching the words into his exercise book.

“Most of you will look at this list, and a few words will jump out at you. Ones you recognise, or ones you don’t...”

_Mugwump ... demented ... basilisk ..._

“Some words you’ll like the look of, or the sound of, and some you’ll find you want to understand. Why is this important?”

Silence.

“Anybody?”

Silence. James spits his wad of well-chewed paper squarely onto Fabian’s desk. The lean boy can’t smother his disgust, and Sirius swallows a laugh as Fabian flicks the spit ball to the floor with his ruler. It lands with an audible _splat_.

“Thank you for volunteering, Mr Potter!” Dumbledore turns to a stunned James sitting in the back left corner of the room. His hand flies to his hair, rumpling it self-consciously.

“Uh ... because ... we need them to communicate?”

“Communicate,” Dumbledore’s eyes roll towards the ceiling, his fingers steepling. “Ah. Yes, that is important. But words are so much more than language. We use them to _paint our dreams_. We use them to _illustrate ideas_. We use words for many different things, and they mean different things to each of us.”

Sirius looks at James again, twitching his eyebrows to express that he’s impressed. James’ mouth twists in agreement. But Remus still hasn’t moved and Sirius frowns a little.

“I understand that there is an established curriculum here, and many of you will probably think it’s easier to stick to the tried and tested way and continue quietly on. But I do not accept that. For you to reach your potential, you must see the world as individuals. That is what I wish to use this class for.”

When they head to supper that night, laden down with homework, Sirius’ head is filled with Dumbledore’s words, both written and spoken. The lesson had been a whirlwind of unexpected, eye-opening ideas and philosophies, and Sirius has no doubt that between the fascinating Remus Lupin and the revolutionary Albus Dumbledore, this last year at school is going to be a real rollercoaster ride.

l-l

After a few weeks, the weather starting to turn a little colder, the sky a little more turquoise, and lessons with Dumbledore even more exciting, James comes to supper with an old yearbook. He flips it open, and sits back proudly.

They all lean over the book except for Remus, heads touching as they try to see what James wants to show them.

It is Dumbledore’s picture from his final year, showing a clean shaven face, a shock of tidy hair and a beaming smile. Beneath is are listed all of his achievements while at the school, and they are quite impressive, but there is one little note at the end which fascinates them all.

“’The Order of the Phoenix’,” Gideon reads out slowly. “What the hell was that? It’s not an official school group, we’d have heard of it.”

The group collectively glance up at the head table, watching Dumbledore who is in deep, animated conversation with McGonagall. Her tight expression is moulded into a thoughtful mask. Sirius isn’t used to seeing it, and it makes him uncomfortable in an oddly pleasant way.

“Let’s ask him,” Fabian decides with a wild grin, one arm wrapping around his brother, the other wound tight around Caradoc. His eyes flash as he looks at them all, encouraging.

The teachers are breaking up, the meal finished. James leaps up, echoing Fabian’s glee. “Right! No time like the present!” he snatches at Sirius’ sleeve, dragging him to his feet. The others jump up, excited, but Sirius notices Remus hasn’t moved, and shakes James off, digging his heels in.

“I’ll catch you up – just find Dumbledore!” he says, before sinking back onto the bench beside Remus, who idly sips his tea, a piece of chocolate between two elegant fingers. He always has chocolate around. “Aren’t you coming?”

Remus starts, looking surprised to see him there. “Oh. No, sorry. What’s happening?”

“We’re going to harass old Dumbles about his time here at school. He was in some group called ‘The Order of the Phoenix’.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Remus says, with a tiny smile.

Most people would think Remus is being sarcastic, and it is certainly something he excels at, but a boy doesn’t live with another boy without getting to know some of his mannerisms, and Sirius knows that Remus is sincere. Just like he knows that there is some deep and serious reason behind Remus’ withdrawn behaviour. Something dark. Something bad.

Sirius likes to hide his own insecurities behind a mask of cheer, but when he looks at Remus he feels ashamed to admit that he even has them. Already, he cares about his roommate. He’s concerned.

“Come along, then,” he encourages, turning his smile on high-beam. “Then we can head off to study group, yeah?”

Remus smiles at him from behind his teacup. “I’m okay ... thanks. I’ll head back to the dorm, I think ... got some physics I wanna work on.”

“Okay,” Sirius says hesitantly. He starts to rise, pauses, sinks back down. He reaches out carefully, laying one hand on Remus’ arm, and feels him immediately go rigid with tension. He’s like a dog that’s been kicked by its master, or an unbroken horse, instinctually flighty and nervous. Fearful. Something fiery curls inside Sirius’ belly. “You alright?” he asks, surprised by how tentative his own voice sounds.

“Sure,” Remus says, his expression carefully controlled and Sirius doesn’t know him well enough to decipher the mask. Remus seems intent on holding them all at arm’s length. It is infuriating, as much as it is worrisome.

Sirius finds his friends outside Dumbledore’s office, where they stand in a horseshoe around him as he was smiles down at his old photograph. “Ah, memories, ah youth. So many adventures still to be had.”

“We were wondering,” Gideon says, stepping aside for Sirius with a grin. “What was the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Ah...” Dumbeldore’s face changes as a veil of reminiscence cloaks it. “The Order was a group of dreamers ... intent of taking everything life had to offer, and using it all to fuel the next dream. Like the phoenix rises from the ashes, we thought we could go on forever. We’d meet in the abandoned hunters’ lodge between the forest and the village, and share experiences and soak up life ... writing, music, poetry, love.

Sirius glances around at his friends, seeing his own bafflement reflected back, but the euphoric expression on Dumbledore’s face seems to be having the same rallying effect on them. Their teacher suddenly notices, his face turning stern. “But it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, boys. Remember that.” With a nod, and Sirius is sure he sees a subtle wink, Dumbledore turns and slips into his office.

They start to move slowly towards the dormitory halls, for study group in James and Peter’s room. Caradoc and Fabian talk in low, excited hums. Gideon looks thoughtful, Peter mystified.

It is Sirius who says, “Let’s go. Let’s do it.”

James steps in front of him, looking at him intently. Then he grins. “I’m in.”

“What?” Peter squeaks. “We’ll be expelled if we’re caught!”

“Then don’t come,” James says dismissively. “Fab, Gid, Cad?”

Caradoc hesitates. “I’m not sure...”

“C’mon!” Sirius encourages, thinking of the beauty to be had, the _adventure_. “ _Love_ , he said.”

It’s Fabian who blushes. “Of course we’re coming,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Gideon?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I’ll try anything once.”

Sirius lets a grin stretch across his face. “Yes! I’ll ask Remus, too.” He feels the eyes of his friends all land on him at once. He isn’t sure what it means. “What?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then: “D’you think it’s his kind of thing? He’s very...” Fabian stumbles for the word.

“Withdrawn?” Caradoc suggests.

“Reserved,” Gideon amends.

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sir!” Fabian throws his hands up as Sirius begins to scowl. “I like the guy, a lot, Sir – really. He’s a laugh riot when you get him going, but I just think this sort of thing might be out of his comfort zone.”

James answers for him, a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, sensing his change in mood. They know each other so well. “Won’t know if we don’t ask. He can just listen if he doesn’t want to contribute.”

Sirius shakes out tense shoulders. “Right.”

l-l

Remus is sitting in the room he shares with Sirius. It smells like Sirius, sort of like cigarettes and expensive soap, and the rosemary oil he rubs into his expensive haircut. Everything about Sirius screams money, and in Remus’ experience money people can be very snobbish, but Sirius isn’t like that. Sirius made a friend of him immediately, in one conversation.

Remus likes him immensely. More than he thinks he should, especially given their circumstances, both together and individually.

But he thinks about him all the time anyway, and when his torments keep him awake he likes to roll over and watch the way the moonlight glints on Sirius’ skin and watch the gentle way he looks so restful when lost in sleep.

Remus isn’t stupid though. He sees things. He looks and he sees, and he knows most people don’t. He sees that Sirius keeps a strange, deep sadness locked tight inside. Remus thinks it might be because of his rich family – Sirius says only enough about them for Remus to know that there’s a lot of bad blood.

He can’t concentrate on his physics homework. He crosses instead to the window, and shucks it open, lighting one of Sirius’ cigarettes and smoking it in the moonlight. He often thinks about the way the moon changes, going from dark to light and back again in a constant, unstable cycle. He relates to it – it is what his head feels like, inside. He isn’t sure if he loves the moon for its beauty, or hates it for how very like him it is.

After he sucks the cigarette down to the filter, he decides to slip off to the showers before the study groups finish. It’s more comfortable for him when there are less people around, especially because he knows how obvious some of his scars are. At least the bruises have faded, though Sirius saw them, at the beginning of term. That had been an awkward conversation.

Remus picks up his toilette bag, and heads for the shower room, checking first that everything he needs is there. He notes that he’ll need to buy more razors. Soon.

l-l

When Sirius returns from study that night, he finds Remus sitting in the stiff chair beside the window, his feet languidly up on the frame. His physics textbook is spread open on his lap, and silvery moonlight cuts through the inky dark to spill across its pages.

He’s got a lamp on, but he’s not reading. Instead, he’s just staring vacantly out the window, wet hair curling around his ears. When Sirius calls his name, he surprises an unexpected glimmer of shame flickering deep in Remus’ gaze.

“Hey,” he says, lightly, attempting to cover his immediate, reactive worry. “Productive evening?”

Remus sort of shrugs, dragging his eyes back to the window. “Not bad,” he says, and his voice is heavier than Sirius expects he means it to be. “You?”

“Not bad,” Sirius echoes, stamping across the room and tossing himself down onto his bed. He leans back on his pillows a little, turning his head to look at Remus, his hair flopping over his eyes. “We got Dumbledore to tell us about the Oder of the Phoenix.” Sirius shares what they learned. Remus watches him, his face studiously neutral. “You’re gonna come too, right?” Sirius asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too keen.

Remus hesitates. He bites his lip, worrying at it with his teeth as he formulates an answer. He only does this when he’s nervous. It isn’t nice to see it now.

“Look, Sirius...”

Sirius turns away suddenly. “I don’t wanna hear it if you’re going to say no again,” he says, exhausted.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Remus says, his tone somewhere between detached and engaging. It’s odd in its ambivalence, and Sirius listens, compelled, but keeps his eyes fixed on the door. “But ... you’ll have noticed I don’t quite ... fit in, with ordinary people.”

“You _are_ ordinary people!” Sirius says, astonished. “It’ll be good for you to come out and mingle with the boys properly.”

Remus sighs, and when Sirius finally looks at him again, his eyes are firmly fixed out the window. He can see the moon reflected in those deep eyes. Hell, he looks like he’s mooning – mooning over the moon. Sirius swallows an inappropriate giggle.

“Sirius, can you really say you know what’s best for me?” Remus mutters, almost as though he’s talking to himself. “Anyway,” his voice is stronger now, stronger than Sirius has ever heard it in the month he’s known this quiet man. “I don’t need you mummying me. I can take care of myself. So you can just piss off.” It’s not said angrily, just simply matter of fact.

For a second, Sirius is astonished. Then, he grins. _There it is_ , he thinks. _This is the real Remus Lupin, hidden underneath all that control._ “No,” he says, happy.

Remus blinks at him slowly. “Sorry?” he asks flatly.

Sirius dials his grin up another few decibels. “No, Moony.”

Remus boggles. “What did you just call me?” he says, bemused.

Sirius reaches out and carefully cups Remus’ cheek in his palm. “Moony. It’s your name now.” This is the first time he’s touched Remus and hasn’t felt that flinch, that instinctive pulling away. In fact, Remus tips his face just slightly, so slightly Sirius thinks he might almost be imagining it, so that his face is being properly cradled.

Their eyes connect and Remus sighs, sounding weary. “Okay.”

Sirius’ lips separate as he stares at his friend, and is surprised by a sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him. That’s not right, he’s never felt that for a boy before, boys don’t do that ... do they? Sirius isn’t sure. Well, Fabian and Caradoc do ... but that’s just them, that’s just the way they are together. Yet in this moment, Sirius recognises all he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on Remus. He wants him.

He wriggles to the edge of the bed and pulls Remus into a haphazard embrace, desperate to hide his face. He can’t hide his emotions the way Remus does. He isn’t sure how Remus will react.

The younger boy doesn’t do anything at first, just seems stunned. His body is tightly corded underneath Sirius’ hands, the hint of that wild animal about him, but after a moment his own arms rise hesitantly around Sirius’ back and settle gently. Even with his body damp from the shower, Sirius can smell chocolate on him. He wonders if he kissed Remus if he’d taste like chocolate, too. He’d like to find out. He should draw back before he tries to, before he startles Remus even further, but this is so nice, hiding his face in Remus’ soft, damp curls.

“So you’re in, right?” Sirius whispers after a moment, unsure what else to do.

Remus’ voice is hoarse when he replies, “Yes.”

Sirius smiles against Remus’ neck. It’s short lived, because even though he restrains himself, something about his mouth pressing there unnerves his friend, and Remus carefully disentangles himself. Sirius watches him as he settles back in the uncomfortable chair. His book has thudded to the ground. He looks idly ruffled, his ears rather pink. “Moony,” Sirius says again, trying the curves of the name in his mouth and deciding, yes, he likes them, and he likes the name for Remus. It suits him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Remus gives him a wan smile and stands, turning his back and turning down his bed. “Define ‘okay’,” he says in a detached voice, before clambering in and rolling to face the wall.

Sirius realises he can’t.

l-l

James has to steal a map to find out where the abandoned hut is. They see Dumbledore twinkling approvingly at them when he takes study hall, and on Thursday night Sirius finds an old book of philosophy and wit resting on his pillow. He shows it excitedly to Remus, who smiles and says nothing. But Sirius is starting to see more, and he rumples Remus’ hair good-naturedly, understanding everything the boy doesn’t say.

The inner cover of the book has a quote handwritten on it, and Sirius considers it carefully. _Meaning is not in things, but in between them. Norman Oliver Brown_.

“You’re going to take minutes,” Sirius says, throwing a notepad at Remus when they’re all together on Friday night in the hut. Gideon thumps down a sack of food he’s pilfered from the kitchen. The cooks just love him, no one seems to understand why. Gideon says it’s because he’s cute, and Fabian rolls his eyes while Caradoc laughs.

“Right,” James says, settling next to Remus and throwing a friendly boy’s club arm around his too-thin shoulders. Sirius notices the slight tension in them, the carefully unchanged expression. “But first, we need a different name. ‘The Order of the Phoenix’ is just too damned long-winded. It doesn’t suit us.”

‘Us’ was a rag-tag group of hell-raisers, rule-breakers and leading misfits. Aside from Peter, all of them indulged in idle nuisance, such as the radio Fabian and Gideon had managed to put together from spare parts and played during their study groups, even though radios weren’t permitted at the school because of their pirate stations. Like stealing from the kitchens. Or James skipping study hall to slip into the town and flirt with girls from the local school. Like Sirius and Caradoc stealing ink and pen-nibs and the good paper from the supply cupboards even though they didn’t need them.

“We’re rebels,” Sirius confirms. “Not dreamers.”

“Right,” Gideon says, sitting on the arm of the ancient, mouldering couch. Fabian and Caradoc are entangled together on the seat beside him, Peter pacing restlessly by the door, his eyes nervous and timid. “Dangerous men.”

James grins at him. Sirius smiles.

“We need something that sounds cool, though,” Fabian says after rolling his eyes at his brother. “Not like ... ‘Hoodlums’ or something banal. A name that combines rebelling with that arty crap Dumbles is always going on about.”

They toss several ideas around, but it is Remus, tapping his nose with the end of his pen, who eventually offers in his quiet voice: “Marauders.”

An impressed silence falls. Then Gideon flashes a thumbs up, Fabian and Caradoc nod enthusiastically, Peter shrugs and James laughs, and traces the words onto the border of his map. Sirius sees it in James’ clear, tall writing – ‘Marauder’s Map’, and a large cross over the location of the lodge. “’X’ marks the spot,” James grins, catching his eye.

“Nice one, Moony,” Sirius says, and offers him a smile. Remus returns it. Sirius loses his breath.

They don’t stay very late that first night, uncertain how long they can leave the school unnoticed. But they flip through the book Dumbledore has gifted Sirius, looking for passages that spark an interest. It’s rather alarming, how thought provoking and non-conformist it all is, and when they leave an hour or so later, it’s with an energised, quiet type of awe. Even Peter seems drawn into it.

They start to go every Friday night, sneaking out for longer and longer periods, getting louder and more comfortable with each other, fuelled by whatever strange thing Dumbledore has been teaching them, and the disobedience somehow helps them all to be better students – a strange new, opening of the mind that helps them concentrate and focus and work better, knowing that by the end of the week they will have time to ignore it all and just _be_.

Somewhere amongst it all, Sirius gets the determination to attempt something he’s always yearned to try – learning to work with motors. He even forges a note from his parents, and gets a local garage to take him on for a few hours a week.

Overflowing with eager excitement, Sirius sits to write the note with Remus advising caution, and for the first time the frustration Sirius often feels around him bubbles out. The sexual and romantic desire, the irritation at how guarded Remus is, the annoyance at being doubted and questioned, all explode out and he yells, “Goddammit, Moony – doesn’t any of Dumbles’ words mean anything to you? Don’t you want me to do something I want? To be _happy_? Whose side are you even on?”

Remus recoils like a kicked puppy, his careful mask of neutrality crumpling into a look of such intense fear that Sirius instantly hates himself, but when he reaches out, Remus jerks violently away from him, retreating to his bed and turning his back.

He apologises, and Remus takes a few deep breaths and begins to relax again, but his severe reaction leaves Sirius wondering, confused, hoping his momentary thoughtlessness has not done damage to Remus or their rapidly solidifying friendship.

It’s James who takes the next unexpected step, a real newness when he shares a poem – _a poem written by James Potter_ , Sirius can’t get his head around it – about a red-haired girl from the village school.

“The contradiction of her colours, waterfall red and green flame...” James reads the short verse that he’s scratched onto the back of the Marauder’s Map, and Sirius is floored by the level of deep-felt emotion. James doesn’t tend to show that, he’s not romantic, not outwardly, and yet showing this side of himself doesn’t seem to embarrass him either. He’s certainly unashamed and unself-conscious, and when he passes around a small photograph Sirius tries to see in the fuzzy image what it is about this girl that James can see, that would spark such desirous artistry.

“Here, Padfoot?” Remus holds his hand out for the snapshot, using the new nickname he’s given Sirius. Sirius likes that he’s returned the favour, though it’s maddening that he won’t share where the name came from, just giving Sirius that infuriating secret smile if he asks. “Lovely, James. So why haven’t you asked her out then?” Remus is slowly starting to come out of his nut-hard shell. They all like him, and they’re glad they’ve included him; he rounds out their group beautifully.

“She’s seeing this awful fucker – Severus Snape. Smarmy git on the honour roll over there. Very possessive. But I’m sure she likes me. I’ve just got to bide my time, seize the moment when it’s right.”

“Just so long as you don’t get into a fight with him, Jamie,” Gideon says. “Take it from me, chicks don’t like that as much as movies make out they do.”

A laugh rumbles around the group, and Sirius is glad when Remus joins in.

It is very late that night when they all head back up to the school. Sirius trips in the dark, wrenching his leg badly. His knee won’t take his weight afterwards, and Gideon, tall and heavy with good muscle, all but carries him back. His embarrassment is mollified when he glances at Remus and catches the gleam of moonlight reflected in his eyes.

Though he doesn’t know whether to be mortified or elated when Remus has to help him undress.

Sirius can’t get his shoe or sock off of the sprained leg, nor can he comfortably wriggle out of his trousers. So after Gideon deposits him on the side of his bed and bids them goodnight, Sirius stares down at the top of Remus’ head as he helps, removing each item carefully, averting his eyes when the underpants come off and he loops Sirius’ pyjamas over his feet instead.

“You might have to see the nurse if it’s no better in the morning,” Remus says mildly, but there’s an odd note in his tone.

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius shrugs, standing awkwardly and shimmying his bottoms up. He loses his balance unexpectedly, and as he tips he crashes into Remus who is only half-risen from the floor. All the air in Sirius’ lungs expels with a great huff as he sends Remus down, sprawling heavily atop him.

“Ah...” he groans, and Remus is making similar noises of bruised shock. He has to move, now, because this proximity is too trying, and Sirius plants a hand to lever himself up, but it’s Remus’ hip and not the hard floor that he pushes his weight into, and an unexpected hiss of pain squeezes between Remus’ teeth.

“What?” Sirius asks, righting himself quickly and reaching for Remus, proximity be damned. “What did I hurt?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Remus is saying, but he’s pulled himself up and away, sitting with his face turned to the shadows, his hand guarding his hip.

“Yes it is, I’ve hurt you... oh, god...”

“No,” Remus says, his voice strangled. “I hurt me. Earlier. You just knocked it. It’s fine.”

Something about this statement makes Sirius prickle. Something about it is just ... _not right_. It’s not what James or one of the other boys would say them if they were hurt. And despite his reservation, if Remus had been injured Sirius believes he would have noticed.

It brings to mind the bruises, and the other marks, the ones he saw when Remus first arrived at Hogworth, when Sirius reckoned he must be a serious athlete. But he knows now that Remus is not a sportsman ... and even if he were, the injuries Sirius has seen just don’t marry up... And not all of them have faded, Sirius sees them in the shower though he tries not to look because it makes him feel like a pervert.

His voice is careful, low, trying not to spook Remus. The wildness inside him is achingly clear. “What do you mean,” Sirius says slowly, reaching a hand out and placing it firmly on Remus’ arm, “you hurt yourself earlier?”

When Remus swings his head towards him, his eyes are deep and sorrowful. There’s no trace of moonlight in them now, and they’re dark night time waters, deep shadows in the middle of his pale face. His voice is curiously detached. “Just what I said. Padfoot, this isn’t a big deal.”

But somehow Sirius knows that it is. He searches frantically for the right words and is surprised by the ones that come to him. “If you’re hurt ... then I want to help.”

His reply is a hollow, humourless chuckle. “That’s ... nice. But you can’t.”

Sirius tightens his grip. “I _can_. You only have to let me.”

Remus meets his eyes, searching long and deep. Sirius tries to read him, but he’s so masterful at keeping his mask in place. “If...” Remus tries, falters. He passes one trembling hand over his eyes, hiding. He attempts to speak again, voice dark and low and gravelly. “If you knew ... you might not want to be my ... my friend anymore.”

There are so many things Sirius could say, so many protestations he could make, but he’s not stupid, and he knows as well as Remus does that actions often speak louder than words. So he shuffles closer, pulling Remus’ hand to his lips, wrapping one arm around the other boy’s head and crushing their awkward bodies together. Against the clammy skin of Remus’ palm, he murmurs, “Try me.”

l-l

 After Remus tells his story, Sirius feels sick and disgusted, but not with Remus, never at all with Remus.

It comes out over the course of an hour, a fractured, tortuous process that is made easier by sharing a couple of cigarettes, a small flask of whisky, and a bar of chocolate.

“Sometimes ... sometimes I start to feel... Fuck, boys don’t talk like this, Padfoot.”

“They do now,” Sirius says, voice firm and encouraging. They’re still sitting on the floor between their beds, pillows pulled down for comfort, a duvet spread over both of their legs. Sirius lights a cigarette, taking a long pull, and passes it to Remus, who accepts it with shaking fingers.

“ _I_ don’t talk... not usually at all.”

“You do with me,” Sirius says, unflinching.

So Remus sighs, and starts again. “In my head ... sometimes it gets very dark. Uh. Difficult, and angry and ... I dunno what the word is. Melancholy? Maudlin?”

Sirius says, “Sad.” The word doesn’t seem enough, but somehow the heavy way he says it gives it more meaning than any flowery description really can.

Remus nods a little, not looking at him. He looks so young, so vulnerable. He’s forced a space between them, an aura of defence and Sirius knows better than to breach it as much as he wants to. “It can be hard to ... sort through. Hard to deal with. I don’t like sharing my secrets, and so they spin around inside my head until ... until ... well. I sometimes ... get very – overwhelmed, I guess. So ... when that happens ... I, uh. I, uh, get hurt. I hurt myself.”

Sirius takes the cigarette back. “Right. How?”

Remus is shaking. He wraps his fingers together, but it doesn’t hide it. He licks his lips and stares at the door. “A razor blade,” he whispers.

Sirius feels something cold and heavy and hard plummet inside his chest. “What d’you mean?” he says.

“I use a blade ... to ... to cut ... to cut myself,” Remus stammers, and snatches the cigarette back, hand covering his face again.

Sirius reaches out, pulls it down, forces Remus to look at him. “On your hip,” he says, understanding. Remus nods.

“Hey,” Sirius draws in a little, testing that space, slipping his arm around Remus’ shoulders and pulling him into an unsteady hug. “That just sucks for you. If ... if you want ... you can tell me why. Maybe then I’ll be able to help you ... come up with another way, or ... or something.”

Remus gives a juddering laugh, and pulls back. His defence is reinforced, and it leaves Sirius cold and uncertain. “The why is the worst of it. You really sure you wanna hear it?”

There’s that steady tone again, the tone of the real Remus. In it Sirius hears how much Remus wants to share, how he wants Sirius to understand, how nervous he is about it. He nods. “It’s something to do with all those bruises you came here with, isn’t it?”

Remus puffs his breath out. “I didn’t come to Hogwarts just because my father went here. I came because of an issue at my other school.”

“Okay.”

Remus looks around for his chocolate, pulling it from his desk drawer and snapping off a piece before passing the bar to Sirius. He takes some even though he doesn’t want it, but it is lovely, and it does make him feel just slightly better in the moment that it’s melting across his tongue.

Remus gives him a shielded, considering look. “How much of my body did you see?”

Sirius doesn’t really want to admit that he thinks he’d seen it all. The bruises that blossomed all across the boy’s back, and some on his shoulders and thighs ... the few long, shallow scars that might have been caused by a belt ... the odd marks that look small but somehow worse. “I’m really not sure,” he answers.

Remus sighs again, and with what is clearly a great effort, he shuffles out of his clothes, so that his torso is fully bare. He twists, allowing Sirius to see – while the bruises are long faded from his pale, goosefleshed skin, the myriad scars are still there. The edges of dark scab peek above his trousers and must be from the razor. Remus stretches out his arm and above the elbow on the underside where the skin in fine and soft, are two marks that can’t be anything except deliberate cigarette burns.

Sirius is speechless, horrified but also touched and amazed that Remus trusts him this much. After a long, long time, Remus slouches and shrugs his shirt back up his arms.

That’s when Sirius gets out the whisky.

“Your father?” he asks carefully, letting Remus take the first nip.

Remus shakes his head, curls bouncing shadows around his face. “No. A ... a mistake. An abusive relationship.”

Sirius sucks his breath in sharply. What the hell? How could someone do that to a person they were supposed to love? How much had Remus cared that he had stayed with someone who would do that him? What the hell kind of girls were at his old school?

He asks. “A girl did this to you?” his voice is whisper soft, laced with fury that he’s struggling to control. His fingers skim the back of Remus’ shirt, and the boy twitches and with delayed realisation all of his awkwardness and physical timidity makes oh, so much sense.

Remus laughs, a sound as desolate as a desert. “No, Sirius.”

 _Oh_.

OH.

“Like Fabian and Cad, then, huh?” he says, striving to make his voice light, feeling suddenly and strangely flustered.

“I guess,” Remus replies, dismissively.

There are many things Sirius knows he mustn’t say. It’s trying to find something appropriate in amongst all of that which is tricky, because now all he wants to do is kiss Remus, his previous fear that Remus’ would shun him replaced with other, less selfish concerns. In the end, only one question seems right. “Why?”

Remus takes his time in answering, and Sirius rubs soothing little circles into the skin of his wrist. Remus’ arm is trembling but relaxed beneath his hand.

“He got me pretty young, I guess. Before I knew better.” Remus shrugs. “He wasn’t bad looking, he showed an interest ... it was nice. It was nice to be accepted that way, to be ... fancied. I wasn’t always so ... well, like I am now. I used to be quite, uh, gregarious, really. I think that was the main reason he went for me. Breaking me was a challenge.”

“What was his name?” Sirius asks softly.

Remus’ face turns very sour. “Fenrir Greyback.” He spits the name like a curse. “He was a few years older than me, and without my even knowing how he did it, he swallowed me up and took complete control of me. He was quite wonderful to me at first ... and then ... well, then he wasn’t.”

And Remus tells him about the beatings, and the words, and the other, hideously intimate things that were done, and how Remus stayed because of the threats against his family and against his life and because when he tried to leave Greyback would always be waiting outside the school the next day, rubbing his thumb across the blade of a pocket knife, a predatory sneer on his lupine features. Remus’ voice is distant and disengaged as he shares, but the thud of his pulse under Sirius’ fingers speaks his misery.

“One day my mother found bloodstains on a shirt I’d foolishly put in the laundry hamper instead of the bin ... and so, now I’m here and Greyback’s somewhere on the continent. My father tried to confront him, and he left before any charges could be laid.” Remus sucks in a deep steadying breath, accepting the fresh cigarette Sirius passes. “I’m sorta ... relieved. I don’t know if I have the stamina to take it all through a court.”

Sirius thinks he understands. He imagines it’s probably a normal reaction, and it’s the bystanders and loved ones who push for their idea of justice, but it’s not them who are publicly reliving private abuse. He wants to make it better, but he doesn’t know how, so instead they just sit together, touching a little, sharing a cigarette and sipping whisky, before a throb in Sirius’ bruised leg reminds him to move.

When he does Remus looks at him, his face pinched and tired. “Thank you, Padfoot. You matter to me.” He turns his arm in Sirius’ grip, and twists their hands together.

Something inside Sirius melts. “You matter to me, too, Moony. And my opinion for you hasn’t changed, at all.”

“Opinion,” Remus echoes softly, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. Then, before Sirius quite knows what is happening, Remus leans in and presses a chaste kiss to the edge of his mouth.

The touch of his soft, warm lips is gone as quickly as it arrived, and Remus stands before Sirius can grab him and pull him back to kiss properly. He butts the cigarette out on the window frame and flicks the filter into the night before turning to help Sirius up, reaching his hand out. Sirius takes it, is pulled to his feet, automatically wrapping an arm around Remus for balance.

This, clearly, is his chance. So he slides his other hand up and embraces Remus’ face, and quickly pushes their mouths together before his nerve fails or doubt kicks in, and his kiss is not chaste at all but smooth and slick and wet. He laps his tongue carefully, tasting Remus, seeking that taste of rich chocolate he’s been aching for.

Remus holds him, and Sirius swoons when he returns the kiss, shuddering heavily against him, but it’s a very different feeling to when he’s tried to pull away. This time he’s leaning inwards, curving his body to merge with Sirius’.

And, goddammit, he _does_ taste, blissfully, like chocolate. Sirius drinks him in, drowning in his taste and going back for more, and he’s not sure whether to be thrilled or amazed or both that Remus is returning his fervour. He wraps his hand in Remus’ brown locks, urging him closer.

Suddenly his leg gives out, and they topple backwards onto Sirius bed. Remus draws back, his lips swollen and beautiful, his eyes hooded, gleaming and utterly entrancing. “Oh,” he says, blinking down at Sirius, who beams back up at him. his hand twists through Remus’ curls, tugging gently.

“Is that all?”

Remus tips his head softly back and forth, testing Sirius’ hold. “What more do you want?” he asks, quietly.

Sirius doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like a line from a trashy novel, so he says the first thing that comes into his head and hopes for the best. It’s his basic policy when caught unexpected. “Everything.”

Remus rolls away from him, but he’s laughing softly. Sirius instantly misses the heat of him. He reaches out, catches a finger through Remus’ belt loop, and sits up to cradle him, drawing him close. Remus isn’t malleable this time, but he doesn’t try to go further away either. He glances sideways, and Sirius only now lets the feelings of uncertainty, the threads of doubt and worry, pull into his brain.

“Is ... is that wrong?” Sirius asks, glancing down and trying not to flush when he notes that Remus’ shirt is still hanging open.

Remus laughs again, a light musical sound, and with a surprising confidence he reaches for Sirius, wrapping an arm around him and crushing their bodies back together. His mouth is murmuring into Sirius’ hair. “No, Padfoot. It’s wonderful. I just don’t know if I can give it to you... Damaged goods and all.”

Sirius sucks in a deep breath, and with an understanding that he can’t place, he says, “I want you just as you are. The rest is details. The future...”

Remus arcs back and raises an eyebrow at him. Sirius meets his gaze steadily. Remus slowly looses his breath. “You’re so sweet.”

As a male, albeit a queer one, Sirius feels a small rill of indignation at being described as _sweet_ , but he flushes with pleasure at the compliment all the same.

“But you don’t get everything all at once. And,” Remus is stroking his hair, touching him gently behind the ear, strumming his fingers against the soft, sensitive skin there. Sirius fairly melts. “As much as I want you, I need ... slowness.”

“That’s okay,” Sirius says, resting his forehead against Remus’ own, “I’m not going anywhere.”

l-l

Things go really well for the entire group for a while. Time passes, and the weather turns even colder, and most nights see Sirius cradling Remus in his arms, squeezed into one narrow bed. Caradoc smirks at them knowingly.

Dumbledore continues to give outrageous, eye-opening lessons, which make Peter increasingly uncomfortable, though everyone else loves them. Even stern McGonagall seems to have properly befriended the eccentric old man, though Sirius notes that Headmaster Riddle keeps a close eye on his wild-card teacher. There’s tension during most meals at the head table.

James works on wooing Lily Evans, his red-haired fancy from the village school, and despite Gideon’s warning, even comes back twice from sneaking out with a bruised jaw and skinned knuckles, lucky not to have his glasses broken. He only grins when the other boys suggest he’s losing his perspective, and tells them that he gives Snape as good as he gets, and he knows Lily likes him so he’s going to keep on.

Sirius keeps on at his job, and the mechanic is impressed and tells him he shows real promise and if he’s truly keen then he’ll take him on as a proper apprentice when he finishes school.

Sirius is happier than he thinks he has ever been.

His happiness is infectious, and he knows that Remus draws on it for strength, as if it rubs off on him and makes him happier through some strange osmosis. He sees Remus act more like the self he keeps hidden, falling in more comfortably with the whole group as the weeks and months pass. He even notices when his self-harming becomes less frequent. And though it hurts to see someone he loves hurting so much, Sirius never presses him about because on some deep level he understands it, and he suspects the cutting is a symptom rather than an illness. So it is that as Remus becomes slowly happier, the rest of him heals as well.

As they come into spring, things start going wrong. And it all happens so quickly.

James is suspended for sneaking out yet again, because this time he is caught, by Riddle no less, as he comes back from visiting Lily.

They come together on Friday night as usual, but it doesn’t feel right with James missing, and Sirius is edgy with wondering at how Riddle could have known James that had been skiving anyway. Peter is looking shiftier than usual, and Sirius squints at him, suspicious that he’s been snitching on his roommate. If he has been, what else he might have told Riddle? Their safe haven, everything they’ve come to love and stand for, are suddenly under threat, and it seems to be just a matter of time before it’s all destroyed.

Every one of them is feeling it, and Remus slowly starts to withdraw into himself. Sirius sees and he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like any of it.

Then it gets worse.

He and Remus are tangled together on his bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon. There’s a steamy drizzling rain pattering onto the window, and Sirius has Remus’ shirt off, stroking his scars, licking his neck, snuffling his hair. Remus is laughing, even though his eyes are dimmed with that faint, creeping-back sadness, but when they kiss, there is only sweet, intimate desire. The world falls away as they twist the blankets around themselves and whisper and laugh and touch.

The knock at the door is unexpected so Sirius tries to ignore it, but the dormitory doors don’t lock for safety reasons and when they disregard the second knock the door simply pushes opens.

Sirius tumbles heavily from the bed in a moment of mad panic, and Remus dives beneath the covers.

Breath coming heavy, Sirius looks up through his loppy fringe, hoping that it’s one of their friends.

It isn’t.

It’s his mother. And she does not look happy.

Her face is more livid than Sirius has ever seen, and Walburga Black is not known for her good temper. Her lips are pressed so tight they’ve turned white. She glares at the unceremonious pile of limbs that is Sirius.

“Son,” she says coldly.

Sirius unfolds himself from the floor, slowly, his eyes seeking out Remus who is firmly lodged beneath the quilt, but he can see from the lines of his body that he’s only hiding in the hope that Walburga hasn’t seen him, that it might save Sirius some awkward explanations.

It’s futile. “So,” she says, stepping inside and shutting the door. “The rumours of depravity in this school are true. It’s that new teacher ... Stumbledore ... he’s put you up to this, hasn’t he?”

Remus’ face appears from under the edge of the blankets. Walburga ignores him.

Sirius is confounded. “Hello, mother. Good to see you too,” he mutters, reaching a hand out to offer Remus his solidarity. He feels broad fingers loop through his own, and squeezes.

“You’ve disgraced your family, Sirius. I can only hope that this ... sodomy ... and the plebeian lifestyle you’ve adopted are some sort of cry for attention, or exploring of boundaries that you ... young people ... seem so keen on these days. But I did not raise you this way, and I won’t abide it.”

Remus wriggles out to stand beside him, slipping back into his shirt to cover his marred skin. Walburga’s mouth disappears. “I’m afraid this is a private matter between my son and me. Please leave.”

“Mother-!”

“It’s fine,” Remus says, and he turns, hooking his fingers around Sirius’ jaw and, with a courage that astonishes Sirius, he leans in and kisses him gently. When he pulls back their eyes meet, and there’s a bright, cold fire burning deep in Remus’. It offers Sirius all the strength that until now he’s never needed from someone else.

And then Remus is gone, and Sirius has to hold onto the power of those eyes as he faces his mother alone.

Walburga is like ice, untouchable and unbreakable. She blinks only once as Remus snaps the door shut, and then her full attention is on Sirius, who feels uncharacteristically tiny under her unflinching gaze. “I did not raise you to be so deceitful and dishonest. I did not raise you to do menial labour. A blue-collar job, Sirius?”

Her eyes sparkle with fury. Sirius doesn’t know how, but he realises she has discovered his work.

“How?” he asks, feeling the balloon of his happiness deflate and puddle somewhere in his feet.

Walburga swallows. Her voice is a dangerous hiss. “We had Cygnus and his family over last week, and Narcissa’s fiancé says, ‘Oh, your son is apprenticing at a mechanic’s shop, he worked on my car over winter’. _Care to explain yourself_?”

Sirius licks his lips. “It’s what I want to do.”

Walburga blinks, and sighs. “You’re too young to know what you want, Sirius. You’re being manipulated by a teacher who is abusing his position and negatively influencing young, impressionable minds. This is why your father and I have decided to bring you home and finish your education with private tutoring. You can sit your exams at Durmstrang at the end of the term.”

Sirius’ mouth falls open. “Mother – no!”

“Sirius, yes.” Walburga’s firm tone fades into a sigh, her fury mollified now she has given her ruling. “It seems hard now, but once you’re away from the corruption here, you’ll see I was right. I’ll give you time to ... say goodbye. Regulus can pack your things, I want leave in ten minutes.”

Sirius tries desperately to find an answer, but his mind has gone blank, a silent scream echoing through every corner of his brain. He can’t _leave_ – he can’t leave Remus, he can’t leave his friends, he can’t leave his job ... he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want his mother dictating his life. This feels like dying, in a small way, and he tries to think of something to say, some argument, but there isn’t one.

Walburga is looking at him, fierce and kind and utterly unyielding. “Do you not have anything to say, Sirius? You usually have. No? Ten minutes then. I’ll meet you in the Hall.”

With a swirl of dark skirts, she’s gone, and Sirius rushes to the door, where Remus is sidling back in. “What is it?” he asks, urgently. “What’s happened?”

Sirius spills into his arms. “She knows. They know. She knows. I have to leave, she’s pulling me out of school, and I can’t leave you ... Remus, what do I do?”

Remus’ hands are on his back, and in his hair, and along his neck. “You’re leaving?”

“No ... yes. She’s making me. She’s...”

“Shh, sh sh sh.” Remus feels solid and strong and everything Sirius knows that he is underneath his mild exterior. “What did she say, exactly?”

Sirius repeats it as best he can. His hands are shaking even though they’re wrapped around Remus’ open collar.

Remus mouth presses against Sirius’ temple, ruffling the soft hairs there. “Go. Don’t lose your head – make a plan and work out your options and find an escape route if you need to, just not one like I would use ... and I’ll be right here, waiting to hear from you. Okay?”

Sirius sucks in a breath. “Okay. Alright. Yeah ... I don’t... but okay.”

“Remember what Dumbledore’s been teaching us. Remember the Marauders, and remember yourself and they can’t keep you down. There’s a way out, Padfoot, trust me, there’s always a way. And remember I’m yours. I’m your ... everything. And you – you’re mine. _Everything_ , Padfoot.”

“Everything,” Sirius repeats, looking Remus dead in the eyes before kissing him, first with desperate passion and then more softly, sweetly, sorrowfully. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

“Moony...” Sirius trails his hand down Remus’ side, fingers brushing the place on his hip where angry red and pink scars mar him, and Remus flinches in a way Sirius hasn’t felt for a long time.

“I’ll be fine,” Remus says, and touches his chin, his cheekbone, and tips his face up and their lips meet and part and meet again, and then a cold voice from the doorway breaks them apart.

“Now, Mr Black.”

They both turn, and in the door is the tall, forbidding shape of Headmaster Riddle, sneering down at them. And Sirius tears himself away, with one last, damp look at his favourite person, and is gone down the black hallway.

l-l

Remus knows he is being watched by the staff, but it’s worse, because it’s Dumbledore who is being blamed for encouraging them all. They’re all called into the Headmaster’s office one day, one by one, and asked questions. Riddle even has their map, complete with James’ idolatrous scribblings about Lily Evans.

Fabian and Caradoc are discovered. Gideon fiercely defends them both, and James is back at the school, furious with what’s happened and looking for a fight, and it’s Remus who notices the letter on Riddle’s desk, Remus who recognises Peter’s handwriting and knows that the reluctant friend has betrayed them to save his own skin from retribution.

James hits him, hard in the ear, swearing when his fist cracks. Peter’s skin splits and he runs away, bleeding, but either he regrets what he’s done or he’s afraid of James, because he doesn’t rat on him for violence. It’s a lucky thing that James escapes expulsion.

They spend unhappy nights crowded in Fabian and Gideon’s room. It doesn’t feel right to be in Remus’ room now, with the glaring starkness that was Sirius’ space for so many years. And of course, they can’t be around Peter. Some nights James slips into Remus’ room with a blanket and pillow and sleeps on Sirius’ bed. Remus sees his eyes glinting as he watches over him, looking out for him, making sure that he’s okay and Remus is grateful. He knows that underneath the brash recklessness, James understands him, and James cares, and without Sirius there, James is his closest friend.

Remus waits to hear from Sirius, wracked with anxiety. The happy place he has found has shattered around him.

One night, when James is in his own room, reminding Peter not to mess with them any further, Remus falls into a fitful slumber late in the night. He’s shaken awake too early, and when he sees James crouching over him he is annoyed that James is bothering to wake him. “Ugh... James. Just get in and go to sleep,” he grumbles and tries to roll over, but James rustles him a little more roughly, and when Remus turns back he sees sincere fear flickering behind the spectacles on James’ nose. He is suddenly very awake. “What?”

“Remus... Sirius is gone.”

Remus shakes himself upright. Cold dread drenches him. “Gone?”

All the boys are there; they all know before him. Why and how are questions Remus doesn’t think of until later, he just wants to understand. Remus knows the sad depths in Sirius, possibly he understands them better than Sirius does. A trapped Sirius is a dangerous Sirius, but he made a promise...

Fabian sits on the edge of his bed, planting a reassuring hand on Remus’ knee. Remus twitches. “He’s run away. Hasn’t been seen for two days. His folks let the school know, in case he comes here.”

“How...?”

James shrugs. “Dumbles told me. Thought we’d wanna know. All the staff know, but we’re not meant to. Don’t let on in front of Riddle.”

Run away... Remus feels a ribbon of panic shoot through him. How would Sirius survive on the road, with no money, no education, no prospects, no support? What if someone like Greyback found him? What if somebody _worse_ found him?

Remus can’t stay in bed with those thoughts, and he throws his cloak on over his pyjamas and races out into the cold, inky night, running until he slides in the slick, dewy grass and lands on his face. James is right there to pick him up, and rub his hair back, and then he’s running again, and they’re all yelling after him, Fabian, Gideon, Caradoc, until James’ voice echoes over the top of them all, “Let him go!”

And Remus goes, and doesn’t stop until he reaches the old hunter’s shack, and he slinks inside and hides in the dark until he can get himself back under control.

l-l

_M,_

_I know you must be worried, but I wanted to make sure you’d get this securely, just in case anyone’s keeping an eye out. So when I met Jamie’s broad, I figured it was a good enough bet._

_I’m in the village! I managed to pack up what I need and get away, hitching my way back. My boss has put me up and is helping me to find a flat or something to rent. It’ll be difficult, but I think I can do it – I’ve inheritance money that my parents didn’t bank on my using just yet. I’m of age, though, so I have access and I’ve made my plan. I’m going to do my exams at the village school, and take the apprenticeship._

_There’s more, but I want to talk to you in person. Am missing you like you wouldn’t believe. I daren’t come to the school, though, in case I’m seen and my parents try to come after me again. Is there any chance you can get away? Want to see you ... and the Marauders, too._

_Am fine, so stop worrying like I know you must be. Be fine yourself. See you soon._

_-P_

l-l

When Remus is finally able to organise a visit to the village, it’s been nearly a month since he’s last seen Sirius. He manages to get his parents’ permission because of his birthday, and though James is desperate to come with him, he’s still in too much trouble to risk skiving again. Besides which, he seems to understand that even with his best friends he’d be a third wheel, so he reluctantly pats Remus goodbye at the Hall door.  Remus takes a bicycle from the sports shed and heads off to meet Sirius at his new flat.

Remus is excited to see him again, but it’s also nice to get away. Things at Hogworth have been sharp and unbearable. Dumbledore is being blamed for everything the Marauders have done over the year, and is an inch away from losing his job for inciting depravity and non-conformity and dangerously reckless behaviour. Peter skulks on the group’s outskirts, watching them treacherously, and all five of the boys have banded together with more strength, but they’re nervous and uneasy and it’s achingly stressful. Remus puts it out of his mind firmly as he checks the address against the Marauder’s Map and shortly after locks the school bike to the fence outside Sirius’ flat.

It’s sparse, but clean and functional, roomier than Remus had expected.  Sirius looks haggard and very happy. At the first sight of him, Remus’ heart expands as though it will burst out of his chest and envelope him, so he wraps his arms around Sirius and presses their bodies close together to stop the explosion. It’s the perfect bandage for the month of worry, and Sirius squeezes him back, like he’s a life preserver.

They don’t need words to say what the past few weeks have been, what this moment is, they know it. They hold each other, until it’s not enough and their mouths creep together and they can taste the sorrow of being apart, and the thrill of new adventure, of future. It’s delicious, and Remus nibbles Sirius’ lip and tastes motor oil and freedom.

“What’s the rest of the plan, then, Padfoot?”

They’re tangled together on the couch, sprawled out in the orange sunlight streaming through the dusty windows. Remus twists Sirius’ hair absently between his fingers, while Sirius strokes one finger slowly up and down the ridge of his abdominal muscles, tucked neatly beneath his buttoned-up shirt.

“When school finishes I want you to come and live with me here,” Sirius says, his voice matter-of-fact, his eyes darting up to catch Remus’. “All the rest is details. Will you?”

Remus knows his parents want him to go on to university, maybe study politics or medicine or banking or something equally soul-crushing and prestigious. But he also knows that his parents care more about his happiness than they do about notoriety in employment, and that even if he makes a career choice they’d be disappointed with, they’re never disappointed in him. He knows he always has their support after how well they handled the situation with Greyback. They never even batted an eyelid, just did everything they could to make him safe. He knows they love him.

He recognises all of this in the space it takes to draw a single breath, and when he releases that breath again, he knows that it’s a good option, to live with Sirius, just as they have been since he started at Hogworth. If it doesn’t work out, he knows he can survive it, because he’s been living it for the past month, and he’s had to deal with years of worse.

“Yes,” he answers simply, and smiles, and presses his kiss to the top of Sirius’ black head, and they move together, comfortable and close and safe and warm.

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the truly spectacular 'Three Card Monte' by enjambament (seriously, check it out. It's probably my favourite-ever fan fic, and this is gifted in her honour) I was struck by a need to write a non-magic AU, and to borrow a movie plot. This was the result!
> 
> Dead Poet's Society is my favourite movie, and lends itself well to the Marauders and I got to have a lot of fun trying to tell a full-length film in deliberately less than 13k words. Also, this is my first-ever non-magic AU, and I have developed a true love for them.


End file.
